


Transatlantic Intelligence Trade Snippets

by Rigel99



Category: Criminal Minds, James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Multi, Snippets, Wordcount: 100
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-09-15 00:18:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9211499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rigel99/pseuds/Rigel99
Summary: These snippets will form prompts for and parts of a longer story tentatively titled "Exchange of Power" for the Criminal Minds 2017 Bang.





	1. Meet & Greet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarkJediQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkJediQueen/gifts), [Rivermoon1970](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivermoon1970/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <http://rigel99.tumblr.com/post/155758469408/transatlantic-intelligence-trade-snippets-work>

Q felt a little like a dolphin who had strayed into a shoal of fish and was currently being subjected to their wide-eyed studious scrutiny while they tried to figure out the intent of this unfamiliar intruder. Q decided it was in his best interest to keep his blowhole covered.

For the time being.

He had felt an instant connection with the man who had come to meet him at Dulles airport. Gideon introduced the young boffin to the team.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” said Q.

JJ smiled, Garcia looked suspicious, Morgan haughty, Elle indifferent and Hotchner? Unreadable.


	2. Qurious

“So Gideon says you and Spencer have a history?”

“Yes,” replied Q, dividing attention between the lines of code in front of him and the hovering cross-armed form of Derek Morgan looming nearby.

“MIT?”

“Correct,” he said, over the sound of tapping.

A few heartbeats passed. “You don’t give much away, do you?”

“You work for the FBI, Agent Morgan. I’m sure if there’s anything you want to find out all you have to do is know where to look.”

“I do. Your files are sealed, MI6.”

Q felt a second presence.

“Morgan.” Aaron Hotchner gave away even less.

 


	3. Language Barrier

*KNOCK!KNOCK!*

“Can I come in?”

Q looked up from his laptop with a tight-lipped smile at SSA Hotchner who was standing in the door. He’d been assigned a small office next to the man so there was literally no escaping him.

Him or his complete want of a sense of humour. _Never thought I’d miss Bond this much_ , Q thought to himself.

“Of course, Agent Hotchner,” replied Q. “Can hardly tell you to bugger off now, can I?"

“Burger… Off?” blinked Aaron, with a confused frown.

Q adjusted his glasses. It was going to be a looonnggg six weeks.


	4. Grrrrrcia

Garcia stared blankly at the image of MI6’s Quartermaster on her main screen. She threw a scowl and a mock growl at his face before sitting back in her chair with a resigned huff.

“Feeling a little threatened, Garcia?”

She pivoted around in her seat to face Morgan. “Of course not!” she flustered. “Just missing Spencer is all.”

“We all are, baby girl.” He moved up beside her to look at the scant details of the man alongside the image.

“But you heard, Gideon. The UnSub’s profile is a perfect match for his, and we need one to catch one…”


	5. Invisible Assailant

_Q’s bare chest was flush against his workstation. The lips pressed between his cheeks alternated maddeningly between soft and rough, escalating the sensation of pleasure firing through his brain and down his spine._

_“Oh fuck please,” he moaned. “James. Noooo…”_

_The lips stilled. “James?” whispered the voice of Aaron Hotchner against the small of his back_.

“What the—“ Q wrenched himself to wakefulness and back to reality, sitting up abruptly in the darkness of his hotel room.

He flopped back down again, calming his breathing, forcing his erection to wane.

“Well,” he said to no one in particular. “That’s new.”


	6. UnSub

“We know the UnSub is British or, at the very least has held British residency during his most formative years. He has also worked in the Intelligence Community…”

“Agent Hotchner?”

All eyes turned towards their guest. It was a brave soul that interrupted their chief when he was in this zone.

“Yes?”

“Why are we assuming the subject is male?”

 _Where’s Reid when you need him,_ thought Hotchner to himself. “Statistically…” he began.

And as though Q could read his mind pattern of thought, he interrupted. Again.

“In the US perhaps, but odds are even, our he is a she.”


	7. Virginia Calling

Q was drunk and he knew it.

“’M drunk, Miss Monkeypants…” he slurred. “an’ it’s my barfday, I’m being shipped off to the US for six weeks, ’n haven’t been snogged in like forbloodyever…”

“Well,” said a low baritone voice. “I can assist with at least one of those predicaments.”

And before Q’s addled senses could bring him up to speed on the situation, James was helping himself to the Quartermaster’s lips, gentle and unintrusive and all the more wonderful for that.

“You’re not Monkeypants,” he murmured hazily, breaking contact.

James smiled. “Fuck but I’m going to miss you, Quartermaster…”


	8. London Calling

“This way please Dr Reid.”

After a brief introduction and handshake at Arrivals, Bond turned on his heel to lead Spencer Reid to the waiting vehicle that would take them to Vauxhall Bridge.

Spencer had to jog every few steps to keep up with the quick stride of the agent.

“Q’s told me a lot about you, Mr Bond.”

“He doesn’t know as much as he thinks, Dr Reid.”

“So you don’t enjoy early morning cuddles and Sunday afternoon strolls in the park?”

Spencer collided with James’ back who turned to stare blankly at him.

“Nice gun, by the way…”


	9. Q's Personal Bunker

“This is you,” said Bond, pulling the car up to the kerb outside Q’s flat.

“Um, thanks. Appreciate it,” said Spencer with a tight but warm smile. He moved to get out of the car a split second after Bond did the same.

He was opening the passenger door before Spencer could react. “There’s really no need…”

“Not up for negotiation, Dr Reid. I am your assigned protection detail for the time being and I need to secure your location before we part ways for the day.”

“Well, um, the thing is, Q…?”

“… Isn’t here, is he?” replied Bond sarcastically.


	10. Sweet Tooth

“Ooooh! Can we stop please, Mr Bond?”

“No, Dr Reid, we bloody well cannot stop. It’s the middle of London rush hour and we don’t want to draw attention by stopping in the middle of moving traffic,” said Bond.

“Ohhh! Traffic lights! I’ll just be a second…” said Spencer, hoping out of the car as it came to a halt at a red signal.

“Bloody fucking hell!” shouted Bond after the man jogging down the street and diving into a shop.

Bond hopped out of the car but Reid was already jogging back.

“Sugar. Doughnuts,” he grinned through a mouthful.


	11. Lifting Spirits

“So. Where to first?” asked Spencer, bouncing into the garage lift. Bond took a calming breath and stepped in and hit the button that would take them to M’s office level.

“Meet M first. Then her PA will show you around the building before Q Branch.”

“Cool,” said Spencer. It was only three heartbeats later before he spoke again.

“Interesting fact. Did you know there are six elevator-related deaths per year? At least in the US…” he trailed off, seeing Bond’s expression.

“It might rise to seven before the end of the day, Dr Reid,” he muttered under his breath.


	12. Room 34

Reid was completely lost in the painting before him. The quiet rumble of Bond’s voice beside him hauled his mind back to the present. “What do you see?”

Reid sighed. “It is beautiful isn’t it? I see life, death, the thirst for knowledge, the suppression of perceived lesser minds.”

Spencer tore away his gaze from  An Experiment on a Bird in the Air Pump, but Bond was facing the other direction, an absent-minded expression trained on Turner’s Fighting Temeraire.

“You’re a fan of Turner?”

“Not exactly. A friend introduced me a while back. It reminds me of him,” Bond replied.


	13. Something Brewing

5am at the BAU wasn’t so dissimilar from the same at MI6.

A slightly smaller but equally diligent beta team, manned stations and reviewed cases. Q mounted the steps leading to his office. He was cleaning the fog from his glasses when he collided with Hotchner, his head buried focussed in a case file while exiting his office.

“You’re keen,” Aaron said by way of greeting.

“The threat never sleeps and nor should we, Agent Hotchner,” Q replied, moving past.

Aaron paused. “I was going to grab a coffee…”

“I could absolutely murder an Earl Grey…” he replied without hesitation.


	14. Take (Me) Out

The Cyberterrorism Conference had come to an uneventful conclusion. Q had been a keynote presenter, the BAU were on high alert for the UnSub making contact but (s)he hadn’t made an appearance or any attempt to reach out to the Quartermaster.

Q was holed up in his room skyping with Spencer, exchanging notes on their assignments when a knock rapped on his hotel room door.

“That’ll be room service. Call you tomorrow, Doctor?”

“Tomorrow, Q,” nodded Spencer before signing off.

He climbed off the bed and tossed on a bathrobe, surprised to be greeted by Aaron.

“I brought takeout…”


	15. More Than Equals

The team dispersed from the conference room, Aaron hanging back watching while Q powered down his laptop. He cleared his throat. He’d never found himself in this position before. But he’d never met a man as fascinating as MI6’s Quartermaster before. With the exception of his young colleague, Spencer Reid.

But Reid was untouchable.

Two nights ago, Q had made himself very, very touchable. Good thing Aaron was so highly trained in compartmentalisation techniques.

“About the other night…” he began.

Q raised a hand, interrupting. “I think that subject is best left lying in the bed we shared, don’t you?”


	16. Chow Down

“Well if you can box your feelings about the horrors men can exact upon each other, I see no reason why you cannot do the same with beauty and emotion.”

Hotchner’s mouth slowed its chewing motion on his chow mein.

“That’s different,” Aaron said slowly and thoughtfully. Q was sure no one had ever posed the hypothesis to him before. “Emotions cloud judgement…”

“And their absence does not?” replied Q, dipping his dumpling into the pot of sauce in front of him.

“You’re a bit of a smartass, aren’t you?”

“That observation has been made on more than one occasion.”


	17. Sugar and Spice

Q took a delicate bite from the sugary confection in one hand, his phone in the other, tapping away a message to Spencer. He glanced up to be met by the impassive eyes of Aaron Hotchner.

"What?" asked Q. "Why are you staring at me like that, Agent Hotchner?" 

Q watched him point to his mouth and then gesture lightly with his fingers against his own. "You got some sugar... Right there..." he replied quietly, not taking his gaze away until Q had swooped the tip of his tongue across the area. "Oh. Thank you," was all he could manage.


	18. Poker Face

“Too rich for my salary.”

Tanner folded his hand and was followed swiftly by Moneypenny and R, both pairs of eyes flitting between Bond and Reid for any telltale signs of bluffing.

Bond’s eyes were fixed firmly on Reid’s features, studying him with judicious microscopic focus.

Reid was oozing a level of zen calm that was completely throwing Bond off his game.

_Who the hell is this kid?_

“Call.” The clatter of chips sank Bond’s heart a little. “Give ‘em up, 007,” Reid said with a blinding grin.

 _Fuck._ Bond turned his hand.

“Aces high?” Reid said, incredulous.

Moneypenny chuckled.


	19. Intruder

Bond had lost him.

Or rather the clever little bastard had slipped his care. It was almost as though Reid knew he’d be momentarily distracted by a pair of long slender legs, high cheekbones and a dark mop of hair.

And now Bond had been taken off the security detail. Granted he hadn’t want it to be on it looking after the kid in the first place, but it hurt his ego to be relieved for these reasons.

He entered his flat and shut the door. Instantly he could sense something was off. He drew his gun and moved forward…


	20. Intruder II

Shoes quietly removed, Bond was halfway up the hall when a hooded figure stepped from his living room. An adrenaline-fuelled response was the only one Bond was programmed to supply and he was on the intruder before they even had time to utter a word. He wasn’t going to bloody his new carpets if it could be helped. The weight of Bond’s body bore down hard, momentum carrying them both back into the living room and bouncing them off the sofa before wrestling his wiry invader to the floor beneath him.

“Calm down, 007!” a boyish American voice rang out.


	21. Close Encounters At Caltech

“Jonathan Quinn,” extending his hand. “People call me Q.”

“Dr Spencer Reid,” the teen replied, mirroring the action. “People call me Doctor.”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow while taking the slender hand in his own. The grip was mutually firm if a little hesitant. Spencer broke into a wide grin followed by a silly giggle. “Sorry. I’ve only been here a few weeks and there’s so much pomp and posturing…” he trailed off.

“I like your accent, Q,” he offered, attempting to salvage a situation he felt was slipping away. “Where are you from?”

“England,” Q replied a little cautiously. “Beds…”


	22. Clash of the Titans

Garcia was acutely aware of the presence hovering at her shoulder. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to focus on narrowing the search parameters supplied to her by Q.

After a few moments of nothing but the sound of keystrokes, Q finally broke the silence. “You are quite talented, Miss Garcia.”

Garcia shrugged, in an effort to hide the goosebumps peppering the skin of her forearms. Really, that accent was a crime in itself.

“There might be one or three things the FBI can teach the mighty MI6, Mr Q,” she said curtly.

“Fortunately, I am an _excellent_ student,” he graciously supplied.


	23. This Quartermaster's Voice

“I mean really, physically? He’s not my type _at all,”_ Penelope whispered conspiratorially to Emily over a cup of coffee in the break room.

“It’s the accent, isn’t it?” Emily replied with a slanted grin.

“God, yes! I swear if that voice told me I had to burn down Quantico to save the world, I would…”

“Careful, Garcia. If any building has ears…,” the baritone of Aaron Hotchner cut into their quiet conversation.

“Oh Sir! No! I mean—, I’d nev—“ she stuttered, wide-eyed.

He merely smiled. “Maybe I need to introduce the idea of accent resistance training to the Bureau?”


	24. Mutual Respect

“With all due respect, Dr Quinn…”

Aaron registered Q’s eyes narrow imperceptibly. Imperceptible to anyone but an experienced profiler.

“If life’s taught me anything, Agent Hotchner, it’s that any sentence preceded by those few words, mean anything but.”

“And while I’m not entirely familiar with the nuances of British intelligence operations, I can tell you that I harbour nothing but the utmost respect for those who protect and serve the needs of the more vulnerable anywhere around the world.” Arms still folded, Hotch took a step closer. Q didn’t budge. “But right now, you’re in my part of the world…”


	25. Snippet from An Exchange of Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it was my turn to post for the CM Bang today, but life being life, well, you know the rest. I've relayed apologies to our mighty coordinator (DarkJediQueen) and the story's banner creative (Chestnut Nola). It is a WIP and it's nearly 10k so far. But my imagination and the plot have run away to live together on a tropical island and are having too much fun. Hopefully, the honeymoon will be over soon and normal service can resume. For now, here's a snippet from "An Exchange of Power."

**Schiphol Airport**

Hotchner didn’t particularly enjoy being away from home soil, but these were extenuating circumstances. As soon as word had come down from the upper echelons of the British and US Intelligence of the intent to collaborate on this latest threat to plague both their nations, and Reid had been earmarked as the mind that would represent FBI interests on European soil, Hotchner had insisted he accompany him for the exchange.

He was a lynchpin in his team. The least he could do was ensure a smooth handover.

It was the early hours of a Friday Spring morning when they landed and headed for the Arrivals lounge. Both men had slept during much of the jet flight, waking up an hour or so before landing to go over some details.

The devil was in the details after all.

Airports at junctures like these were always busy regardless of time of day, which could be a blessing or a curse, depending on your perspective. Hotchner watched his subordinate, a little more jittery than usual, disembark the FBI jet, stumbling on the last step before feet hit solid ground. He quickly shot his hand forward to steady him.

“You OK, Reid?”

“Sure, sure. Fine. OK, Hotch, really.”

Hotchner didn’t push his mild concern. He understood, up to a point, the reasons for using Reid in this particular case and his invaluable skill set, but did wonder sometimes at the personality quirks that revealed so much about him and if they might compromise him. Regardless this was not his decision, and the best he could do under the circumstances was play his part in ensuring a speedy conclusion to Reid’s time away from the BAU.

Their walk through arrivals was uneventful, passport control and customs officers not even sparing them a glance. It was just easier this way; to move and blend with the crowd rather than set up some “special meet.” That sort of thing could sometimes flag unwanted attentions.

Hotchner spotted the dark-haired, slender, bespectacled man waiting for them in the same moment Reid did. Reid was walking several feet ahead, and though Hotchner couldn’t see Reid’s face, it was obvious from the MI6 Quartermaster’s expression that they were beaming at each other.

The embrace was mutual, welcome and comfortable. He took in the body language as he strolled passed them and deeper into the lounge area. He was so intrigued by this sudden change in Reid, germaphobe and shunner of human physical contact, he didn’t register the blond man tracking his movements away from the pair.

He took a seat at a bar, strategically opposite a mirror, and ordered a coffee.

The Quartermaster - Jonathan Richards (an alias no doubt) - and Reid following to sit at a table moments later. They placed their identical messenger bags side-by-side at their feet. Aaron sugared his coffee, glancing up occasionally at the relaxed ease with which they interacted. He vaguely wondered about the agent’s security detail while sipping his drink, when a blond man in possibly the sharpest cut of suit he had ever seen, sat two stools down from him. Their eyes met, fleetingly, but it was long enough.

Aaron spared his peripheral vision to watch him order a martini. He tried not to frown. If this was to be Reid’s caretaker, what the hell was he doing drinking high alcohol spirits at 2am in the morning?

Less than five minutes passed before Reid and Richards stood, lifting each other’s bags from the floor without missing a beat. A brief embrace and both men headed off in their designated directions, inserting exchanged earpieces as they walked.

“Welcome to Great Britain, Dr Reid,” Bond’s smooth purr drifted over their now shared comms device.

“We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we, 007,” came the murmured reply. Bond was briefly surprised at the cheekiness before he chuckled. _Definitely hints of Q._ He was going to miss the cheeky-mouthed little arse, he thought to himself, keeping his eyes trained on his new charge.

He took a breath before exiting the arrivals area into the cool air where Spencer Reid stood waiting, looking up at the night sky with a wistful expression.

“I’m sure you’ll be back home before you know it. And I know the Quartermaster,” said Bond, grabbing his suitcase. “Let’s go, Dr Reid.”

And as one unmarked vehicle pulled out of the car park to make its way to the heart of British Intelligence, a jet sped up the Heathrow runway and into the night sky, chased by dawn all the way back to Washington.


End file.
